Sleep No More
by lyn89
Summary: ... How awful, to have to realize that half of your whole had been eaten away while you slept, knowing that the rest of you would eventually rot away as well. Slowly from the inside out. Mulder, Scully, which one had succumb first?


Title: Sleep No More

Author: lyn89

E-mail: secretagentcomradesteve

Feedback: It would make me oh so happy.

Archive: Great, just let me know.

Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and the crossover theme does not belong to me either, now I'm sad.

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Category: TA

Spoilers: A few here and there (but the setting would probably be around Season 4 or 5)

Keywords: Skinnercentric, SkinnerAngst, Crossover (theme, not characters)

Author's Note: This is not a happy story, and there is no warm and cozy ending, apologies.

Summary: Before closing his eyes he thought of them. Which one had gone first? He saw they way they looked at one another. Perhaps it had never been said but he knew the love they had for one another. Had. Now it was all gone, nothing but emptiness. How awful, to have to realize that half of your whole had been eaten away while you slept, knowing that the rest of you would eventually rot away as well. Slowly from the inside out. Mulder, Scully, which one had succumb first?

-x-

Day 1

-x-

The bright red lights bleed into my eyes. 4:02 resonates in my mind, taunting me. Reminding me that once again, sleep has refused to come. No point in forestalling the inevitable.

And it's here, staring at the unsettling sterile white tiles of my shower, where my mind leaves me.

Maybe it's the ex-Marine in me or perhaps it's just another sign of getting older but I've always preferred my showers cold. Heat wave or snowstorm, midsummer or dead of winter, my showers are always cold. In truth warm water disgusts me, not hot, but warm. It reminds me too much of the bloodbath from years past, of the onslaught of tears and agony.

Standing here, my thoughts drift to unseen planes. Friends, family, past, present, it's all a blur to a man who has and has taken hundreds of lives. But today my mind rests on thoughts of loved ones and of the past, things that describe me and bind me to who I am: Walter Skinner.

While most families would be pleased to have a son who'd served in the military, mine was not.

/W.S., why? Why have you done this to us? Can't you see...what this has done to your mother?/

W.S., not sure why but most men in my family were referred to by their first and second initials, maybe it was just something families did. My grandparents were children brought up in the wake of World War I, and established their own family in the midst of the Great Depression. My father, the youngest of twelve, was known as H.L., and was also the only one to have survived to adulthood. Maybe that's why they stuck to giving their kids letters as names, cut back on the sentimentality of childbirth in the event that they died. Sad. They said my dad was the lucky one, but with only one son (one that never fathered any children), you have to wonder: was he really all that lucky?

That's what he must've thought when I joined, and when I left. I would never know what he would have thought of the idea of me coming back alive; he died of a heart attack two weeks before I was honorably discharged. Lucky.

My thoughts slowly begin to return to the blanched tiles, the water still cold. That's another great thing about cold water, it remains as such. While hot water will eventually cool down and turn warm and dirty my skin with the unpleasant reminder of blood.

Cold water remains cold.

-x-

7:21 A.M.

"Good morning, Sara."

I quickly tuck my paper under my arm and reach for my usual seat. Despite my past incident here, I still enjoy this restaurant. Though it lacks any sort of charm and possesses little sense of ambiance, the coffee's always brewing and the steaks are always cooked right.

"Mornin'. The usually blue plate, medium-rare?"

"Sounds good to me."

Ah, steak and eggs with three slices of bacon and an extra side of your choice, an idea breakfast. One might scoff at the idea of steak this early but I am a steak man, and more importantly I don't ever have time for lunch.

I let out an exhausted sigh, it always happens that I become weary and show signs of sleep deprivation after I'm dressed and ready for work. What a miserable morning. Though maybe it's the idea that my two agents are returning from their case in Santa Barbara.

I wonder how close that is to San Diego, doesn't Scully have family there? Maybe she went to visit them?

I shake make head at the thought. Not with Mulder. Agh, back to the paper, and if there's anything mentioned related to their case in the paper so help me God-

Nothing.

Today might be a decent day after all.

I flip towards the back of the paper, landing myself in the classifieds. A little knack of mine, or maybe I'm just nosey, but I relish in the thought of the goings-on in D.C. What are people doing? What do they need? Who do they want? I suppose it's only human nature to be curious. Adjusting myself in the hard oak chair I nod silently agreeing with my thoughts.

WORK NEEDED

This is always an interesting one, sometimes more so than the Personals. After all there are many ways one could define 'work.'

OPEN-MINDED ANIMAL TRAINER NEEDED FOR NIGHTLY ADVENTEROUS OPPORTUNITIES. AQUATIC TRAINERS NEED NOT APPLY.

I stifle a chuckle and remind myself that this is Washington D.C. after all. Besides stranger things can and do happen, best not to judge.

P.I. OR EXPERIENCED PROFILER NEEDED.

Profiler? That's a new one.

HUSBAND IS ACTING STRANGE - WILL PAY $16.45/HR SPENT INVESTIGATING. CALL 555-1013. ASK FOR PATSY.

I could almost laugh at the absurdity. Did it not ever occur to this 'Patsy' to simply talk to her husband?

/We never talk, Walter. What's the point?/

Damn it. No, I won't go there, not now, not-

"Here you are!"

I almost jump out of my seat. Sara is standing there smiling with my always delicious-looking breakfast in one hand and a large pot of coffee in the other. Right now she is my favorite woman.

"Ah, thank you, Sara."

"No problem, sir!"

Sir, either I look the part or she's a very polite young girl.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

She nods and slowly begins to fill a mug.

I rotate my jaw a bit. It's a nervous tick, something I can't really control. I've gotten better, I used to grind my teeth when I was young.

"How's school?"

"It's good."

"Good. Thanks again."

Last time I spoke with her she'd said she changed majors. Went from journalism to political science. Said she wanted to be a lawyer after all that she'd seen. At least the ordeal had a positive effect on someone.

-x-

9:17 A.M.

'Sir, Agent's Mulder and Scully here to see you.'

CLICK

"Send them in."

This was going to be nothing short of interesting...

-x-

"And that's all you have to report?"

"Yes, sir."

Agent Fox Mulder. Surprisingly as of late he has become a man of few words. Despite the sadness and pain that can often be captured within his dark eyes, I am surprised to find just hollow empty pits staring at me.

Nothing.

"The eyewitness accounts of strange, uh-" I quickly flip through the file. "pods? They turned out to be nothing?"

"Yes, sir. Just overgrown pea pods, a pet-project of one of the local farms."

How dull.

Perhaps Scully could give her medical and scientific advice.

"Agent Scully, the bodies mentioned...you examined them?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you found nothing?"

"No, sir."

"The cause of death left you with no suspicions whatsoever?"

Scully glanced briefly at Mulder, then back at me, waiting for him to speak for her.

"It is my belief, and that of Agent Scully's, that the townsfolk were experiencing a form of hysteria-"

"Hysteria?" Somewhat interesting.

"Yes. And that it escalated to the point to where some of the citizens began to hunt down one another. By killing one another they felt they could remove whatever stigma they felt was affecting their town."

"So this was all psychological?" Right up his alley then.

"Yes, sir."

Looking through the frames of my round lenses, I look from agent to agent. No unique findings on the corpses. No lights in the sky or little green men. Nothing, but a group of insane individuals.

"So in short, both of you came up empty-handed?"

"Yes, sir. It was just a few cases of panic that spread throughout the whole town."

Finally. I am actually pleased for once to have Scully speak more than two syllable phrases. Though, at times she could be quite the shy one when it came to these meetings, it was usually because Agent Mulder had done something. But there was nothing.

Not that this wasn't the first time that they turned up empty-handed, that was essentially nearly every case file. But Mulder, either fueled with rage, passion, or both would proclaim what he had seen and done, but what was now covered up and hidden within the shadows.

It wasn't like him, or either of them. Were they burned out? No. Something must have happened, but what?

I move my jaw left and right in a circular motion, nervous again. The air in the room was starting to choke me, getting to my nerves. Never has a meeting with these two been this uncomfortable. Never, unless something terrible had happened. A death or illness perhaps?

"Agents, is there something you aren't telling me?" I look at Mulder for only a second and push my sights onto Scully.

While I won't argue which is the more intelligent of the two, Scully is definitely the most level-headed. And she has kept reasonably quiet this whole time, she must know something.

"Agent Scully? Is there something bothering you?"

She stares at me. "No, sir."

Her voice is calm and almost seems to chide me. And now I feel like a fool.

"I can get you into contact with local law enforcement if you like. They can give you an update-"

His voice startles me a bit, enough to pull me from my thoughts and back to the meeting.

"No Agent Mulder, that's not necessary. Thank you agents, that will be all."

Yes, please. I need some air.

Both rise from their chairs and leave. No rebuttal, no nothing. I lean back watching them, the brass wheels roll back against the beige carpet and the dark leather chair squeaks as my weight presses against it.

Although I'm not one to schedule my day around two individuals, I had certainly hoped to have been somewhat entertained by Mulder's high in the sky reports of aliens and Scully's recount of numerous near-death illnesses; but there was nothing.

The chair pushes forward and I begin gather my notes. Lately I have preferred to schedule my meetings with Mulder and Scully at the end of the day. Not to push any sort of favoritism but I simply never have the energy to deal with all the absurdity first thing in the morning.

Today was different. Maybe that's it, they were just tired from their case and suffering from a little jet lag. My God, am I that pathetic that I not only rearrange my life in a way that best suits my interaction with my two agents, but the majority of my thoughts are on them? I need a vacation, or better yet a drink.

I slowly rise from my chair. I'd expected this meeting to last until eleven.

My fingers scratch at my balding scalp as I pass the office mirror. Perhaps the whole meeting wasn't absurd or strange, perhaps I am just getting old. I have indeed put quite a few miles on the odometer, maybe it was time to trade them in.

Staring into my reflection, all that I see is an old and tired man. I begin to straighten my posture and adjust my tie. Maybe old isn't the right word, distinguished sounded better.

Resigning myself to my thoughts, I settle back into my chair waiting for my next appointment.

-x-

6:07 P.M.

Today was unnecessarily long. Three case updates, a budget meeting, and enough paperwork guaranteed to give me carpel tunnel for no less than three weeks. The days don't seem to be getting easier.

I let out a sigh, and recline back in my chair for a moment. Though it happens often, I'd much prefer to head for home with a head full of empty thoughts, not a clouded mind drowning in tension and worry.

I ease forward, my left hand rolls into a fist and anchors my head in a straight position, with my index finger pushing on my cheek and my thumb digging into the fleshy space of my chin. The silver pen that was once resting gently in my hand is now serving as my nervous drumming tool. Tapping in a rhythmic pattern against the oak desk.

My mind is still stuck on the first meeting from this morning. Despite the seemingly empty turnout, I can't shift gears and lose enough focus or interest to abate my fears.

TAP

Hysteria? Really?

TAP

While I would expect this sort of rationale from Scully, such a response coming from Mulder is well...spooky. Where's the mind control, or demon possession that led these individuals to kill one another? I am almost flabbergasted that no samples of the 'pods' were sent to the field office in San Diego. Maybe there really was nothing.

TAP

Even if that were the case, where's the fire? The aggravation and anxiety over once again being summoned half way across the country to find nothing pertaining to the supernatural?

Hysteria, huh?

TAP

Mulder is a trained psychologist. One of the best, if not the best. In fact, his techniques and methods were what got him into the Bureau. Be it far from me to question if there was any psychological anomaly, but it just doesn't fit.

The tapping stops.

Just what the hell is going on?

-x-

To Be Continued (Day 2)

-x-


End file.
